


Defenseless

by disguisedvictories



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dream Team SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), DNF, Dream Smp, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prison, Song: Defenceless (Louis Tomlinson), george breaks dream out of prison, mild soulmate vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disguisedvictories/pseuds/disguisedvictories
Summary: One man ends up in a mushroom biome and the other ends up in a prison.George longs for happier times, decides he's sick of pushing his pain aside, and uncovers the secrets hidden in a spellbook that'll reunite him with his locked-up ex-lover.(or, George lives in a mushroom far from the center of the SMP and discovers a magical spellbook that helps him break Dream out of jail. Loosely based on the lyrics of Defenceless by Louis Tomlinson)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 234





	Defenseless

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a post from @weekly404 on tumblr about "Defenceless" by Louis Tomlinson being a DNF song. 100% agree. A little bit of prison!dream brainrot to help your week along.

It’s on a midsummer morning when the top of the shiny, obsidian prison pushes its way over the tree line that circles George’s house. Although he knows he’s nearly two thousand blocks from his old home and nearly a thousand from the prison, it’s twice as large as he thought it would be when Dream first told him of his plans to build such a place. He’d seen the blueprints, of course, and he’d known about the inner workings (considering _he_ was the one that had come up with a few of the concepts). But now, as it breaks the serene feeling he’d worked so hard to capture for his little home, George can’t stand the way it looms in the distance. 

He resents the prison; if only because it reminds him of the way Dream had always found a way to build a wall around himself. 

The ting-tang of hammers echoes through his forest for weeks after the prison reaches his horizon line, startling away every small, furry friend he’d made in the six months he’d lived there. Just when George had grown to expect the sound of the construction, it all but disappeared overnight.

_The prison must be done, then._

The animals return slowly – his small family of foxes now doubled in size, a few clusters of birds he’d taken to feeding berries to by hand, and a sweet gaggle of chicken that produced fresh eggs every day. He welcomes them with a smile and they settle back into their comfortable and familiar way of life.

He’d left the DreamSMP nearly six months to the day when he receives a letter, scrawled in handwriting only _he_ would recognize. George stares at the chicken scratch on the envelope – the pen Dream used must’ve been broken in his haste to move out of his home because the ink has bled all over the place and the brunette can barely read any of the words on the page.

~~_My dearest,_ ~~

~~_My heart,_ ~~

_George,_

_Today is the day. The day we’ve planned for so long. Today is the day I finally take back the server for us and we can bring you to power once again. Gone are the days of L’Manburg and the disc wars. All that will be left after this is us._

_Where have you gone? The world feels so empty without you. Will this letter even reach you? I found one of your birds fluttering around our old home yesterday, so by gods I am hoping they bring this letter to you._

_When the server is mine once more, we’ll return to the castle and restore your title. We’ll have our home where we’ve always wanted – right in the middle of the server for everyone to know who rules._

_I hope you’re taking it easy, my king. Speak to you soon. Be safe._

_Dream._

George stares at the words. He reads them once, twice, and a third before finally slipping down the tender walls of the mushroom home he’d built for himself. _He truly doesn’t realize the problem, does he?_

The words hurt more than George would like to admit and as much as he would like to write to his blonde ex, there’s something in him that knows the attempt is futile. Pride can’t be broken by written words, after all.

George drops the folded letter onto his bedside table and goes back to tending to his garden and harvesting vegetables for his next meal. He gets lost in his head and doesn’t notice the way the sun slips behind the obsidian prison into the dark of night.

_Life goes on, but I wish I didn’t need so much of you._

* * *

George avoids going fishing for weeks, if only because he knows that the prison rests just on the edge of their favorite fishing spot. It’d been planned that way, of course, as George had been the one to suggest the idea. Heat attracted fish on this part of the server and the couple had always enjoyed the soft summer days on the water together. It had only made sense at the time, but George now looks upon the river with contempt. 

It reminds him of happier times. Of times where he had a partner that _supported_ him, rather than fought simply for himself with the excuse that it was for _George._

Their relationship had ended in flames – with George running from the SMP as fast as he could while Dream destroyed everything they’d built around them. Their friendships, their _homes,_ their entire lives. All for the sake of unmatched power.

Maybe it was, and maybe George _knows_ that Dream had convinced himself it was for _them,_ rather than just himself alone, but it always felt different to him.

Invisible walls blocking him from the safest place he’s ever known – the inside of Dream’s heart.

He realizes that he’s nearly out of food when his icebox no longer stays cold. It runs and runs and runs but with nothing inside, the box grows warm and George realizes that it’s time to find a new solution. He avoids the water and turns to the left instead, further into the forest and deeper into the biome. He’ll live off of nature’s freshest vegetables until he simply _can’t._

 _It’ll be fine,_ George tells himself. It’ll always be fine.

On his third trip into the woods, George stumbles upon a small clearing of mushrooms; purple, red, brown, and white decorate the bright green grass in little patches. He’s never seen anything like it, and he’s never even _heard_ of purple mushrooms on this side of the server. The ground feels different, too – softer and warmer, and there’s a pulsing that grows from beneath his feet with every step he takes further into the field.

As curiosity does, George mines down and comes across a small library nearly a hundred blocks below the tender earth. It’s filled with books upon books of recipes – soups and crafting ideas – but the book that catches his eye rests in the middle of the room. It spins in slow circles, hovering over a pedestal and giving off a faint glow of yellow light.

Even from where he’s standing, nearly six feet away, George can _feel_ the magic pouring out of its pages. He cracks it open slowly – the spine is broken and pages flutter out of their confines the moment he does, swirling in little circles as they fall to the ground at his feet. 

He brings the book back to his little mushroom house with the promise to return to the magical clearing at a later time for _more_ books and _more_ ingredients. The book opens a new world for George and from that day forward, he puts his entire focus on something that’s inherently _not_ Dream. 

It feels like escaping the prison his ex had built around his heart. It feels like freedom.

* * *

George gets a second letter a month later. The handwriting is cleaner and he knows instantly that it’s not from Dream.

_George,_

_My dear friend, I hope this letter finds you well. Although I’m not sure how this will reach you, I truly hope it does and that you’re able to make peace with the news I am about to tell you. I think it will be for the best – for the server, for our friends, and for you._

_Dream has been locked in the prison. He’ll live the rest of his life in the maximum-security cell to pay for the crimes he has committed against our growing country. Tommy and Tubbo were victorious in the final battle after Dream’s final attempt in taking their lives._

_Should you feel the need to return or reestablish yourself here, please know that our community welcomes you back with open arms. We know that he was manipulating you as much as everyone else in the server and we hope you understand how much we all still love you._

_There’s a bit of land cleared for you on the western border of the SMP, should you choose to return._

_Additionally, the wedding date has been set for two months from the date of this letter. Quackity, Karl, and I would love for you to attend._

_Warmest regards,_

_Sapnap_

He stares at the words, watches as his tears splatter across the page and smear the ink. All he can think about is _Dream,_ locked in the prison cell _George_ had invented. The cell they’d designed together to lock _Tommy_ away. 

He crumples the letter in anger, slams his fist into the soft, spongy wall of his bedroom, and lets out a wail of a cry.

 _Life in prison_ was an awfully long time to be away from the person you wanted to spend your life with. Even through the pain, the _anguish_ he felt at never getting their happily ever after, George knew that he wouldn’t be showing up for Dream. Not anymore. No matter how much he’d missed his _person._ His person who thought himself as a God, but who’d flown too close to the sun and had fallen like Icarus. His _person_ that would undoubtedly get himself into something and George, somehow, would be the one to get him out. His _soulmate._

George was tired, and he’d given up on the dream that they’d once had as a couple – a home, a family, a little life of _peace_ and simplicity. He’d wanted all of it with Dream, and every promise had fallen empty when his angry, bitter, control-freak of a boyfriend had decided he’d rather be an almighty _god_ than his life partner.

Sure, they’d been there when their little country had been born. He and Dream and two of their closest friends had basically built the town themselves. Their memories together were tied in between the rocks at the bottom of the pond they’d dug out and threaded through the curtains in the windows.

He and Dream had always been a ‘ _they,’_ and when they were suddenly no longer _that,_ the world felt like it was on the verge of ending. So, George ran. He ran and he ran until his legs couldn’t take him any further. Even this many blocks away, George knew that Dream could still find him somehow. Should he ever have a chance to leave the prison, that is. 

Some part of that was comforting, in a certain sense, too. 

George falls into bed with red eyes and an exhausted sigh that slips through his lips like a ghost. He sleeps for nearly two days before finally pulling himself from the comfort of his warm cocoon. He can’t mope forever, but _maybe_ he can still have his happy ending.

There’s a flame that lights his soul on fire at the thought of getting to be with Dream again. George could be independent, and he truly enjoyed it, but there was a person that existed in the server that knew his _soul_ and that was _enough_ for George to fight for him.

He wouldn’t be showing up for Dream, not _yet,_ at least. George flips open his spellbook and finds the correct page almost immediately. The spell’s title is massive at the top of the page, written in looping, swirling letters that wrap around the stem of a flower.

_Flos Lanuae Magicae._

A flower teleportation spell. He’d heard whispers of it when he was growing up, but there had always been people claiming that it wasn’t possible. How could _pollen_ from a _flower_ allow you to teleport an entire person to somewhere over five _thousand_ blocks away?

The spell was easy, but it would take nearly another month to brew, not to mention the time it would take to find the correct ingredients. He’d need nearly a hundred bees, too.

He glances out his kitchen window where the sight of the prison looming in the distance no longer catches him by surprise. A sense of comfort washes over George’s body. His person is close, and at the very least, safe inside a cell no one can get to. In a certain way, it felt like Dream was watching him – waiting for him to find a way to break his prince out of a dragon-guarded castle.

A smirk pulls at George’s lip at the thought – for _once_ they were playing by George’s rules.

He had time. 

* * *

BadBoyHalo arrives nearly a week later, just as the sun is setting. George is in the middle of feeding the foxes when he senses his tall friend’s presence, looming just at the edges of the entrance to the field. 

“Bad,” George raises a friendly hand and motions for him to come over. “Long time no see, friend.” He tries not to think about how _different_ it feels standing next to him. How much has changed since they’d last been together in the same small space. George welcomes him into his house and offers his friend a chair. He sits and, even in a completely normal-sized house, somehow manages to look like Gandalf in a hobbit-hole, half bent over George’s kitchen table, head nearly hitting the ceiling.

They share a silent moment, simply taking in the peace between them- a welcomed moment of serenity. There’s something that crawls under George’s skin at that moment, something eerie and sinister, and although he’d _heard_ of an _ominous_ Egg, seeing Bad like this – red-eyed and somewhat anxious – made George nervous. Who was the man in front of him and where had his open and careless friend gone?

Bad is the first to break the silence, “You should go see him, George,” his voice, as soft and tender as always, has a sense of urgency behind it. Something sparks inside George’s stomach – _had Dream asked to see him?_ “He’s – the way they have him living in that little box… it’s cruel.”

“Wasn’t that _his_ design, Bad?” George forces his voice to sound like it’s laced with aggression, but they both know there’s an underbelly of pain just below the false surface of the walls he’d built around himself. He _aches_ to see his blonde. George doesn’t mention that the design had been his own, _no one_ needs to know how much involvement George had truly had with the nightmares Dream had caused.

“Well, sure. His _and_ Sam’s,” that bit surprises him – the last George had heard, his partial father and Dream hadn’t gotten on well. No one had gotten on well with Dream in the later months before George’s departure. He’d openly manipulated too many people at that point. “It’s cruel, though. He’s got… this clock he stares at all day. He jumps in lava for fun. I – you should go see him before it’s too late.”

George is in the kitchen now, standing over a giant pot of glittering, simmering _stew._ It smells like magic, which is a good sign to George, as he realizes that the potion must be brewing correctly. It’ll be ready by the end of the week. He twists the spoon in the pot and watches the liquid swirl in different directions – the sight is mesmerizing, and George thinks of how _proud_ his prisoner will be if the potion actually works. 

“Before _what_ is too late?” The brunette whips his body around at Bad’s comment and folds his arms across his chest, “It’s _been_ too late, Bad. Seeing him is just… going to open old wounds. It’s going to remind me of the things we were supposed to have,” _a family_ echoes in his ear like a ghost of a past life, “Why would I go see him if I can _never_ have that again?”

He’s got to play stupid if he’s going to pull this off.

“He’s going crazy in there, George. I don’t think _your_ Dream is going to exist much longer without… without knowing that _someone_ out here still thinks of him for what he once was.”

“You’re not _actually_ trying to guilt me about this, right?” George stares out the window at the prison in the distance. He _aches_ to see Dream, to have him in his arms and remind him that George has never truly left his side. That he doesn’t need those walls around him and that George had forgiven him so long ago that he hardly remembers _why_ they had split in the first place.

“I’m not _guilting_ you, George,” his friend steps closer, places a comforting hand on his shoulder, and says, “I just think you may need this as much as he does. He… he’s different. There’s a hollowness in him that I haven’t seen before.” 

“He manipulated a child, Bad. Many children. He fought stupid wars over land that he claimed as his own, that he really wasn’t entitled to. He exiled someone and…” George doesn’t know the full story – he’d always refused to hear about the updates Dream had when he’d return from Tommy’s exile location. George preferred to live with rose-colored glasses on, to follow Dream blindly into the fire with a dedication buried deep in his chest. 

He’d known Dream was his soulmate from the day they’d met and while Dream had never been a _good_ person, George had also done his fair share of _horrific_ things, too. Did people really think the green-hooded man worked alone? George had _everyone’s_ trust. He took whatever he needed when his friends weren’t looting – it’s how Dream always ended up with the upper hand. It’s how he ended up with _half_ of the items in the Vault they’d built together in secret. George was, by no means, innocent in Dream’s warpath of destruction.

“That’s true, yes,” Bad takes George’s hand in his two, “but I know you hurt for him. I can _feel_ it, Gogy. There’s a hollowness in you too. Like part of your soul is missing.”

“ _Bad,”_ his voice creeps out of him, laced with pain. He’d never been good with building walls. Not like Dream.

“Go see him, George. I’m trying to get his sentence reduced. Maybe if we can… convince the people he’ll leave the server, maybe he can go free.” 

“Don’t tease me like that; you know Tommy and them will never let that happen,” George plays along with Bad’s words, his eye’s focused on the red of his friend’s rather than glancing to the pot on the stove. “I’ll go see him.” 

“I’m trying to convince Sam to let us bring things in. Maybe bring him a mushroom or his favorite flower,” Bad gives his hands a squeeze, “He was asking to see you.” _His favorite flower._ In some ways, it was perfect that Bad had already suggested the idea to Sam. George was closer to success than he’d thought.

His heart jumps in his chest and George feels an ache settle in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a _while, “_ He did?” It was the last bit of confirmation he needed to move forward with his plan.

“Mmm, Sapnap too. I think mostly you, though. He doesn’t… open up to anyone.” Dream had built walls around himself for as long as the brunette had known him, so hearing that wasn’t entirely surprising. George had gotten close though, close to breaking down that last, final flimsy fence he’d put around his heart.

_“Tell me what you want,” Dream whispered, his lips ghosting against George’s ear. They were nearly seven thousand blocks away from home; just the two of them surrounded by a field of flowers and the crisp spring air. The blanket underneath their naked bodies was warm and soft and the sky above them was cloudless; littered with a splatter of twinkling stars and a bright, full moon. Nothing but the two of them, their bodies curled around each other and the empty sky to hear their truths._

_“Dream,” George’s voice had gone soft in the way it only did when it was just them. Their relationship was soft and sweet in these moments – there were no plots of taking over, no whispers of war tactics or forms of manipulation. His body was still flush with heat, a sticky sheen of sweat coating his chest from their latest round of lovemaking, “You know what I want.”_

_“You really want to run away from the SMP? To here?” The flower biome was massive – spread across nearly five hundred blocks and littered with flowers every color of the rainbow. The ocean was just a few hundred blocks in front of them, the waves crashing and crashing in a rhythm that had matched Dream’s every thrust and George’s whimpers of pleasure._

_“It’s kinda peaceful, don’t you think?” There was a nibble to George’s shoulder._

_“Mmm, it is,” He could feel the love bite forming a bruise – the marks were something he’d grown to love and cherish. They were a reminder that what the two had was_ real _beyond the falseness of every other relationship they’d held with the others. “We could build a house over there,” Dream pointed across the field, “have a farm over there,” his finger pointed in the opposite direction, “maybe get you a little garden and a shooting range for your archery.”_

_A soft sigh left George’s lips, “Could we get a dog?”_

_“Baby, I’ll get you a whole litter,” Dream rolled them over and pressed George into the blanket, his body covering George’s almost entirely, “We could have a family, too.”_

_George’s breath hitched at that – he thought of tender nights together, where they’d talked about having a family before. Celebrating the holidays and cooking family dinners together. Having the peace of_ togetherness _that neither of them really had growing up. A family had always been something they’d wanted. Without fail, any time Dream brought it up, George would melt into him._

_“Yeah?” He twisted his fingers in Dream’s blonde hair and gave it a gentle tug, “And how do you expect us to have a family?”_

_“Well,” Dream waggled his eyebrows, “we could_ try…”

“ _Shut up, you idiot,” a giggle pealed out of his throat, airy and breathless as Dream pressed kisses down his bare chest. “We’ve tried that. Many times. Alas, we’re both genetically not made for that.”_

 _“Mmm, we could still_ try _though,” George flushed at the thought and tried to ignore the feeling of gentle lips as they trailed further and further down his chest. Dream bit the brunette’s hipbone, “There’s plenty of kids that just get abandoned these days, I’m sure we can find a village that’s looking to rehome a child. It’ll be fine, my love. We’ll work it out.”_

_It’s George’s turn to respond, but he can’t – he thinks of sweet children and his blonde partner playing on the beach. He thinks of hot summer afternoons and cold winters – of every holiday filled with laughter and chaotic dinners. He thinks of his family and his Dream and everything that means forever to the two men._

_“We’ll leave the server soon and come here, okay?”_

_“You promise?” George can feel his heart tighten – Dream hardly ever makes promises. In fact, George had learned long ago not to ask for one because Dream never agreed._

_“I promise,” he presses a kiss to George’s thigh, “Forever together in our field of flowers, okay?”_

“Maybe I’ll go see him, I guess,” Bad pulls him in for a hug then, towering over George’s slight 5’9 frame in all his powerful glory, “Can you let Sam know? I’ll come in seven days.”

“Okay. Seven days.”

* * *

The potion is nearly done by the fifth day and George, who is absolutely _sick_ of eating mushrooms and berries, who aches for something with density and protein, decides that it’s finally time to go to the river.

With just two days before he’s set to see Dream, he’s hardly wrapped his mind around the fact that he’s going to see his _person_ and that his _person_ doesn’t even know he’s coming. There are nerves that fluster in the pit of his stomach as he finally arrives at the water bank where his boat has been tied up for months without use. Part of George is surprised that it’s even functional, nonetheless that _both_ of his ores are still attached.

He carefully places two buckets and his fishing rod in the little wooden boat before rowing himself to the backside of the prison. From what he remembers of the blueprints – no one, not even the guard, can see as George climbs onto one of the pillars of the prison and settles himself against the wall, toes tangling into the warm water below. The alarm would only go off if George tried to _break_ a block, and truly, he wasn’t _dumb_ enough to do that. 

George tries not to think about how this is the closest he’s been to Dream in months and that the man doesn’t even know it. He very well could assume that George has all but forgotten about him, about _them._ About George’s promise he made to stick by him, _always._

He drops his fishing line into the crystal-clear water below, the fish already circling the bait lazily. George leans back against the obsidian and welcomes the natural warmth it gives off from the morning sun beating down on it and the way the heat of the lava seeps through its pores. _Dream must be hot in there – with the way this stone holds the temperature, he’s probably dying._

George’s thoughts wander – he wonders if Dream is getting fed well enough and if he’s had enough water. What he does to keep himself busy, and what he thinks of when he gets truly bored. George thinks of Dream, in a small box with nothing but himself and his tragically beautiful brain. He’ll find out soon enough.

He fills two massive buckets of fish in an hour and while his boat is packed and ready to go, rocking with the gentle lapping of waves as they hit the massive blocks of obsidian, George doesn’t want to leave.

There’s some part of him that feels connected to Dream like this. Pressed against the smooth obsidian, just on the other side of a wall of fire. They’d fought through hell together. Granted, Dream had done most of the fighting and George had done most of the crafting, but they’d done it _together._

He misses Dream. He misses him something so deeply and so fiercely that he forgets the pain he feels when he thinks of their breakup. He just _misses_ the one person that knows him better than anyone else on the server. He’s not felt close to anyone since.

George lowers himself into his boat when the sun has finally started to set, the prison’s shadow spanning so far across the river that the water looks _black_. The shadow shrinks as he moves closer to the shoreline that he came from, but there’s _tomorrow_ looming in his future and that’s enough. He’s ready. He’s sure of it.

* * *

George is _absolutely_ not ready. It becomes apparent when the sun moves to the slot right above his head and hovers there, hot and heady as he finally steps up to the entrance of the prison. He knows what to expect inside – he can already see the path in his brain, but there’s something _new_ and anxiety-filled that makes him hesitate. Sweat rolls in beads down his back while he watches the massive prison from behind his glasses. He just has to ring the bell inside. One push and he’ll be on his way.

Dream is _there,_ waiting.

George paces. And paces. And paces. Back and forth and back and forth. He runs a line into the grass as he goes, stumbling occasionally over his own feet as he tries to will himself to step into the building. He’s got a yellow flower, dusted with the teleportation pollen, clutched so tightly in his hand that he’s certain if he gripped it any harder, the flower would be useless.

He takes a breath and moves forward, pushes through his nerves and anxiety, and jams his hand into the button, “Sam, I’m here.”

Regardless of how much George knows about the inner workings of the prison, it’s a strange experience to finally be traveling the path _himself._ They didn’t make any changes to the blueprints, which is somewhat surprising, but it also becomes apparent that him _knowing_ about the blueprints might not have been something Dream had ever mentioned to Sam.

Dream is just minutes away when he hands his flower to the guard for safekeeping. It’ll only work with a certain kind of thought, so George isn’t entirely worried about the item getting damaged in the few minutes it’s not in his hands. Eventually, he gets poisoned and knocked out and finally, _finally,_ he’s standing on a platform watching as lava slowly empties down into a bottomless pit to reveal a solid obsidian block in the center of a room.

That’s when George sees him – although Dream hasn’t seen him yet. He looks thinner from where George is standing, his green hoody replaced with an orange jumpsuit rolled down to his waist. Tan, smooth skin spread taught against muscles that George has memorized every inch of, that bring back memories he _shouldn’t_ be thinking about while visiting his ex-boyfriend turned convict. His hair is chopped up and George wonders if Dream forced Sam to cut it at some point because it’s a disaster.

Even from where he’s standing, Dream is _beautiful_ and _handsome_ and his heart pounds so hard in his chest that he feels like he’s going to throw up. Dream finally realizes he has a visitor when the lava stops popping quite so loud. He turns and their eyes meet for the first time in _months,_ spread across a giant vat of bubbling, searing lava. Just blocks from one another.

The expression on Dream’s face is enough to have George bouncing anxiously – he’s so close, but so far, and there are so many unsaid words but George just _needs_ to be on the other side of the pit. 

“Walk with the platform. Alert me when you’re ready to leave,” Sam’s voice bites out somewhere from behind him, but George doesn’t hear. All he sees is _Dream._

When George reaches the other side the lava slowly slides back into place and the wall that separates the two men lowers into the ground. They’re locked in a tiny box together, but neither of them moves. 

“George,” Dream is the first to speak – soft, muted, _broken._ It’s unlike anything the brunette has heard from the man but it sounds like _home_ and he can’t help himself as he moves forward. “What are you doing here?”

George’s hand clutches the flower so tightly in his hand that he can feel a little drip of liquid inside it trickle over his fingers, making them sticky, “Bad said I should come see you.”

“ _Oh.”_ There’s a brokenness there that George hadn’t expected. _Is he upset that I’ve come?_

“I- I wanted to come see you. I just figured that they weren’t allowing _friends_ to come visit.” 

“Friends?” Dream looks up once more, his eyes searching George’s for answers in the unspoken words between them, “Is that what we are?”

“ _Dream,”_ his voice cracks and they’re moving together, pressing against each other in a hug so tight that all air leaves his lungs in one swoop. Dream twirls them around, presses George into the wall, and shoves his nose to the brunette’s neck. He inhales deeply and relaxes in seconds, his body all but melting into George’s. 

It’s then that he realizes Dream doesn’t smell like he always had – there’s something different laying in the undertones of his smell – something like fire and charcoal. It’s new, but not unsettling, and it feels like one less wall between them. He _knows_ this man, he knows the stickiness of his sweaty skin after they make love and he knows the way his laugh turns to a whistle when he gets going. George _knows_ Dream, and the walls the blonde had built around himself slowly disappear with every moment they’re together. 

They’re different than they were – they’re a little older, a little wiser, a little more used to the trauma that comes with surviving on this server together. George doesn’t mind _different_ when Dream takes his jaw with his index finger and his thumb and forces the brunette to meet his eyes. They stay like that for a moment before George makes the first move – pressing his lips softly, _chastely,_ to the one’s he’d memorized every curve and divot of.

Dream brushes his nose against George’s – a silent exchange of forgiveness and acceptance and _love._

“So, this is your new humble abode, huh?” George pulls away, separates himself from warm skin and pretty lips, and blonde hair.

“Uh, yeah,” Dream leans against the wall and watches as George fidgets his way around the room.

“Nice clock,” there’s a teasing tone underlying in his words and Dream snorts. 

“Bad told you, huh?” the voice that had been there before – confused and fake – slips away and George finds himself looking at the man he once knew. Soft, gentle, _genuine._

“Oh yeah, told me you’re living in some horrific conditions and are suddenly best friends with a fucking _clock_ ,” George inspects the item, watches as the hand spins and spins and glances in Dream’s direction, “There something special with it? Or are you just trying to convince everyone that you’ve gone batshit for the sake of a pity vote getting you out earlier?” 

“Mmm, no,” The blonde chuckles and moves towards George, “I just spin it for the sake of spinning it. Sometimes it feels like time crawls when you’re in here, so if I spin it, sometimes it seems like time goes faster,” Dream loops his arms around George’s waist and peppers kisses up the side of his neck, “Sometimes I try to think about what you might be doing at different times of the day. Noon? Barely waking up for the day. Three? Showering. Six? Eating something, probably. Maybe soup, because you’re too lazy to go fishing once you’ve run out.” George melts into Dream’s arms, tips his head to the side to give him a better position for more kisses. He relishes the fact that Dream knows him _so_ well, that he gets even his schedule still mostly accurate after being apart for so long. “Let’s see. Nine? Probably doing something to keep yourself busy, maybe gardening, taking up a new hobby. And midnight? Probably touching yourself to thoughts of us. At least, that’s what _I’m_ doing. _”_

A laugh bursts out of George, “You’re so fucking stupid, stop it!” He pulls himself from Dream’s arms and takes a look in the little chest, “You’ve finally decided to write some books, huh?”

“Mm, you could say that” he pulls one out of the chest and hands it to George, “Tommy told me to write stories. Something about a homework assignment for some bullshit reason. I dunno.” 

George reads the title, “When the World Began?” he snorts a laugh, “What is this? Are you writing a bible or something?”

“Open it,” Dream is there again, pressing himself against George, hands snaking up his blue shirt and spreading against soft, pale skin.

He leans back into the touch and they both breathe. It feels like another wall shatters between them as he skims the first line.

_The Dream SMP is a lot of things. But it would be nothing without the man that could move mountains. The server’s best and first king. George._

“Dream, what is this?” There’s a flutter of eyelashes against his neck and he _swears_ he feels a tear roll down his neck. _It’s probably just sweat._

“I wanted to write down every important memory I had from the server. Eventually. I realized all of the important memories were of you. So… I wrote our stories.”

“Our… stories?” George is hardly an open book to anyone, but Dream knows his _soul,_ and something tells him that he might know Dream’s soul too.

“Mm. Everything is in there. Every adventure. Every journey. Every battle. I’ve spent weeks writing as much of it down as I could. I started with the things I remembered – the battles and the discs, the fucking Vault we built together, and then… I couldn’t write anything else without wanting to put your name in every other sentence. You were there for the first declaration of war, so strong and hard willed to fight for the SMP when L’Manburg was so young and so fresh. So sexy in the way you said you’d never leave my side and had willingly gone along with my plans. I- I took advantage of that though, didn’t I?” George stares at the words on the page, covered with a scrawl that’s nearly identical to the letter he’d received a few months back.

Dream places his cheek on top of George’s head, “I had everything I could ever want. I had the king, I had respect, I had a life that was bound to be _perfect,_ but I wanted _more._ I needed _more_ than what I was given.” He’s gone, then. Moving back towards the opposite wall to stare into a small pool of water. George doesn’t question it, and wonders if there’s anywhere soft that Dream gets to put his head down at night when he sleeps. 

“I couldn’t stop. I saw the power and I _needed_ that,” George closes the book carefully and slides it back into the little case next to the twenty other volumes. He wonders what the other stories are of – wonders if their most intimate moments have been written for the entire world to see someday. “But in the end… when I used my power and took that away from you – when I had decided my king needed to be someone else and _you,_ my entire _world,_ needed to be safe – I broke us, didn’t I?”

George doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have words. He remembers the betrayal of getting his kingship stripped from him in front of all of their friends. It felt more like a breakup than anything else. He’d been the king because _Dream_ trusted him with that power, but when Dream had claimed it wasn’t _safe_ for George, it felt more like a slap in the face than anything.

George had been involved with as much of the planning and the implementation of Dream’s takeover of power as the blonde had been himself, so when Dream had gone behind his back and taken that _power_ from him, it felt like a wound that would never heal.

“Yeah, you might’ve. I don’t think that’s the thing that truly did it though, Dream,” George looks at the man who has now slid down the wall and has his knees tucked under his chin. He’s never seen him so _broken._ “I just think that I couldn’t take one more broken promise from you and you didn’t realize that your promises were empty words.”

“They weren’t empty words.”

“Weren’t they?” The air fills with tension, “I did everything with you in mind, Dream. Without me, your calculations for this prison would’ve been off. Without me, you wouldn’t have gotten those discs, you wouldn’t have gotten as many canon lives taken from the others, you wouldn’t have _any_ of those items for your vault. I wanted power as much as you did. You _promised_ me power, and I was _king._ I had the most power in the entire server, so when you took that from me, it felt like the end. 

“I still did everything with you, because of course, I did, but it was the broken promises that really made me figure out that you’d put up walls around yourself that I’d never be able to break down. Not the way I had let you into my own soul, at least. What happened to wanting to run away and start a family with me? What about _that_ promise?” George watches as Dream’s last, metaphorical barrier crashes to the ground into a pile of rubble around him. The blonde breaks – his face screws up in pain as he holds back tears that eventually come pouring out of his eyes like deep flowing rivers. His body shakes as the pain washes over Dream and all George can do is stare. “It was the only thing I wanted from you, Dream. It was the only promise you needed to keep for me. I gave you the crown back, I helped you manipulate our friends. That was the only thing I wanted from you.” 

“I- I…” The blonde hiccups and George has never seen him so defeated.

“I’ve- I’ve always had walls up around my heart, Dream. To everyone. To Sam, to Sapnap, to Bad, Skeppy, Karl, and Quackity but to you,” he pauses, “I’ve been entirely defenseless. You could’ve taken me and made me do everything… _anything_ you wanted. I would’ve stolen those damn discs for you fifteen times over, I would’ve tortured someone for you, I would’ve ruled our kingdom with a cruel fist if you had demanded it.”

Dream stares at him, “What?”

“Don’t you realize that? All you had to do was ask me to stay – to explain what you needed, and I would’ve done it,” George shrugs, “but you just pushed me away, you put up walls between us that didn’t need to be there and at some point, it just became evident that your power was more important than our future.”

Dream shoots up from the ground then, “No, it wasn’t.”

“Dream, you literally can’t lie about this. I _know_ that your need for power was more important than us having a future.”

“I left you to protect you, George. I had to protect you. Otherwise, you’d be in here with me." 

“At least we’d be together,” Dream is there again, wrapping his arms around the smaller of the two and pressing him against the wall. George feels trapped, yet comforted by the solid arms around him – like a barrier is around _them_ rather than just _Dream._ He’s not felt so protected in ages and while there’s something suffocating about the feeling, he can’t help but draw little circles across the lines of scars that stretch across Dream’s tan chest. 

“I’m gonna figure a way to get out. We’re gonna have that happy ending,” there are lips at his temple and George lets his eyes flutter shut.

“Stop acting like you need to be the strong one here, Dream. You’re in an inescapable prison inside a thousand blocks of lava and obsidian. You’re not gonna escape this,” he looks up and loops two arms around Dream’s neck. His eyes flutter and Dream lets out a breath of air.

“You’re _so_ pretty,” Dream’s lips are inches from his own and as much as George _wants_ this, he has the power now. He slips himself from under Dream’s arms.

George extends the flower he’s been nervously swapping between hands during the entire exchange, “Take care of my flower, will you? I picked it from my _own_ garden.”

Dream stares after him, mouth slightly ajar and head tilted to the right. He twirls the stem between two fingers and lifts it to his nose to take a whiff of the sweet smell as George hollers for the guard. 

The flower sends up a singular plume of pollen. It lingers in the air for a moment and Dream _swears_ he hears it whisper “ _teleportation pollen. When ready, crush the flower and think of me. I’ll see you soon.”_ George winks.

Dream isn’t the only one that knows how to plot. They share a look and Dream, confident and assured and emotions masked behind a wall of muscle, leans back against the Obsidian, and twirls the flower between two fingers. 

“See ya later, George.” 

“If you’re lucky.” He blows his blonde prisoner a kiss. _Soon._

* * *

If George knows anything about Dream, it’s that the blonde is smart enough to wait until the darkest part of the night to use the flower. It gives him just enough time to return to his home, gather enough Ender Pearls from his chest, and destroy most of his house so that it looks as if no one has lived there for ages.

He places his most important items into his ender chest and destroys that, too. He’ll craft a new one when they get into their new home.

George is just finishing the last of his packing – a little bag filled with enough food to last them a week when they finally get to their new home – when he hears the sneeze of another person.

“George?” The whisper is soft, and he jumps out of his doorway, straight into the arms of his escaped prisoner.

“Dream. Ready?” The blonde is still spinning with confusion – a dazed and overwhelmed look on his face as he tries to process the post-teleportation feeling.

“Yeah, let’s go home.” No one realizes the prisoner is missing until nearly two full days later. They can’t find a broken stone, a walked path, or any trace of the fugitive. Dream vanishes without so much as a whisper to the wind. 

* * *

“George, babe, can you grab the umbrellas?” The brunette looks up from where he’s got a small toddler in his arms – one that’s fussing over sunscreen on the right side of his face - his human half. The other is a deep, dark black that only glitters when the sun hits it - his Ender half. 

“’M kinda busy, Dream,” he pins their son down and slathers enough sunscreen on the little one’s cheek to last at _least_ for a few hours.

The blonde pokes his head around the kitchen wall, a smile blooming at the sight, “Ranbeau’s being sassy today, huh?”

“I think he just somehow learning to take after his father,” George shrugs and they share a look – it might not have been their _perfect_ happily ever after, but as they walk down to the beach and their half-Enderman son bolts to the edge of the water (although he _never_ goes in), giggling and flapping his arms with happiness, George thinks they’ve finally found it.

Dream settles next to his partner on the towel, stretched out under the hot sun, toes digging deep into the sand, and fingers playing with the elastic of George’s swim trunks, “Thanks.” 

George glances at his husband, white sunglasses perched on his nose, “For?”

“Not giving up when I was lost in my pride.”

“Eh, your pride was kinda sexy. I didn’t mind too much,” there’s a yelp from the water and Dream is up, bolting towards their son and scooping him from the terrors of the shallow water. George watches with a fond smile and thinks _yeah,_ this is _home._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed! : ')
> 
> Catch me on tumblr @nikkimusings : )


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